


-two-

by oorrrt



Series: alive, with closed eyes [3]
Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Unrequited Love, somewhat. depends how u look at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 00:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20844206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oorrrt/pseuds/oorrrt
Summary: Youngjo wants to hold Hwanwoong.  He wants to love him.  He wants to land the softest kisses on his cheekbones, his jawline, the corner of his mouth, tiny moths of his love drawn to Hwanwoong’s radiance.-Youngjo records Hwanwoong's "Fools" cover.





	-two-

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the titular song, ["two" by sleeping at last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrDzd4ufypE). pls give it a listen, it gives this fic much more depth and more importantly it’s beautiful and so worth knowing.
> 
> in the series bc it’s a canon fic, didn’t intend for it to continue or be part of the other stories, but I suppose it could be, there's a lot up to interpretation

_Only fools do what I do, only fools fall._

Youngjo clicks off the music.

“That was good,” he tells Hwanwoong. “I think we can wrap up now.”

Hwanwoong raises his eyebrows at him from inside the recording booth. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

He still looks skeptical. “Can you play the recording back for me?”

Youngjo nods and turns it on. Hwanwoong’s soft singing voice fills the studio. Youngjo can’t help but watch as the dancer closes his eyes and bobs his head gently along to the music, small fingers resting against the music stand.

The song fades out. “It’s good,” Youngjo says again.

“It’s fine.”

“Just come out, Woong, it sounds great. And it’s getting late.”

Hwanwoong presses his lips tightly together but gathers his papers together and steps out of the booth. His beanie’s a little lopsided, revealing a few blonde hairs that haphazardly stick out the side of his head. Youngjo reaches over to smooth them down and straighten out the hat. Hwanwoong lets him, and if he notices that Youngjo takes a little too long, hands hesitating, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Your voice is maturing,” Youngjo says.

Hwanwoong sits down on the small black couch behind Youngjo. “What do you mean?”

Youngjo spins his chair to face him and shrugs. “You’re getting better at emoting when you sing, and changing your voice to match the vibes of whatever you’re singing.”

Hwanwoong hums. “Once I got the pronunciation down, this song felt really…natural? To sing.”

“It suits you.” Youngjo says, turning his chair back around to save the recordings. He saves the ones he won’t use, too. Hwanwoong doesn’t have to know.

“Thanks.”

“You can go back home; I just need to finish putting this together.”

“It’s okay, I’ll wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Youngjo goes back to the computer, but he can’t stop focusing on Hwanwoong’s breathing from behind him. It’s because he’s not used to having other people in the studio while he’s working, he tells himself.

Once everything’s on his laptop, he unplugs it and joins Hwanwoong on the couch, gesturing for the younger to come sit closer. Hwanwoong rolls his sleepy eyes but complies, pressing warm against Youngjo’s side.

“How’s the choreography coming along?” Youngjo asks.

“It’s basically done, I’m just tweaking some small things.”

“Can I see?”

“No.” Hwanwoong chuckles. “It’s a secret.”

Youngjo pouts. “You showed Geonhak and Seoho.”

Hwanwoong pokes Youngjo’s bottom lip. “I wanted their opinion. They like choreographing things.” He settles his head on Youngjo’s shoulder. “You already know that.”

Youngjo bites his lip, exactly where Hwanwoong’s finger had been moments before. This sort of softness, this late-night affection, this unrestrained _longing_ eats away at him. “I feel left out,” he finally responds.

“The waiting is going to make the reward that much sweeter.”

Youngjo laughs. “You sure the reward’s _that_ good?”

Hwanwoong elbows him. “Hurry up and finish whatever you’re doing.”

Youngjo sneaks an arm around Hwanwoong’s back and pulls him in closer. Hwanwoong lets him, resting his head back on Youngjo’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Soon enough, as Youngjo is typing away, Hwanwoong’s breaths slow down and even out.

Youngjo taps one of his feet against his ankle, trying to stay focused on the recording. His left arm is falling asleep, but he doesn’t want to move it and wake Hwanwoong up. Awake, it’s rare that he lets Youngjo hold onto him for more than a few moments, making faces and pulling away whenever Youngjo gets too close for a little too long.

A few final tweaks and the project is finished, but Youngjo stays still. The glow of his laptop screen casts a faint blue light across Hwanwoong’s face, traveling the contours of his closed eyes, his nose, his lips. The lower half of his body is lit even more softly by the the studio lamp, dim and yellow and familiar.

There’s a song in this somewhere. But words seem to get caught in Youngjo’s throat, pushed down and out of mind by the experience of seeing. Of being. Youngjo can never quite capture that in his lyrics: the magic of existing.

The magic of Hwanwoong. Youngjo wants to pick him up and hold him so tightly against himself. He wants to leech away the dancer’s worries, to envelop him in a tenderness that eases all the soreness in his muscles from pushing himself too far. He wants his heart to beat so firmly against Hwanwoong’s that the younger can’t help but feel it and beat along – he wants the rhythm to fill Hwanwoong’s cracks and hold him together for good.

Youngjo wants to hold Hwanwoong. He wants to love him. He wants to land the softest kisses on his cheekbones, his jawline, the corner of his mouth, tiny moths of his love drawn to Hwanwoong’s radiance.

But he shouldn’t. He can’t. It would be unfair.

It’s not that Hwanwoong doesn’t love him back – he does. But it’s a different kind of love; a little warmth, hesitant trust. And Hwanwoong’s love is finite, divided meticulously between everyone he cares about; everything he can afford to give Youngjo is in slivers, calculated. Held back.

But Youngjo’s love rolls in and fades out as violently as the tides. He tries to mirror Hwanwoong and hold it back, but soon enough it all just crashes forward, threatening to drown everything around him.

Hwanwoong isn’t his to love. But sometimes, he’ll reach out for Youngjo in the dark and lace their fingers together. Sometimes, like now, he’ll rest against Youngjo’s shoulder, eyes closed, trusting. And in these moments Youngjo knows Hwanwoong will always be the moon, metaphorical hand gripping the front of his shirt, the ocean, pulling him wherever he desires.

That’s okay. Youngjo feels like it’s a privilege to love Hwanwoong anyways. He’d give him anything, everything. He’ll love him no matter what. That’s okay.

He shuts his laptop and presses a kiss to Hwanwoong’s cheek, waking him up. Hwanwoong grumbles and closes his eyes again.

Youngjo pulls him upright. Pulls himself away.

“Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> ravn was the one that recorded woong’s fools cover and no one wrote a fic about it, which is tragic, which is why I wrote this. also bc i've been getting too long winded recently oops
> 
> [song link again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrDzd4ufypE) :-)
> 
> edit: [twt](http://twitter.com/keonfeet)


End file.
